


Going mad

by KeiserFranz



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Getting Back Together, M/M, Mention of eating disorder, set in the 80s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:06:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28090635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeiserFranz/pseuds/KeiserFranz
Summary: Ideas, images and words swirled around in John's head -- too vague to transform into words, too loud and real to forget. He felt like the only solution would be to take a knife, open his skull and scrape them out, crumble after crumble.He was lunatic.ORJohn's struggles with writing open old wounds.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	Going mad

John stared at the blank list of paper. Nothing. Not even a fucking doodle. He wanted to scream, yell and scream some more. A glance at his watch revealed he had been wasting 3 hours already. 

He was going mad.

Had it happened on a different day, it would not have had such an impact. He would laugh and go for a walk or start to bother Paul. Thoughts would settle down and ripen when time allowed. But not today.

Ideas, images and words swirled around in John's head -- too vague to transform into words, too loud and real to forget. He felt like the only solution would be to take a knife, open his skull and scrape them out, crumble after crumble. 

He was lunatic.

The other explanation, the one that John's ruffled nerves leaned towards was that his talent had withered the over years. Not that he had much of it to start off, anyway. 

Sounds of guitar strumming travelled from the living room, Paul tried to compose a song, to John's office. It only deepened the sense of humdrum weighing him down. 

The tabloids would be fun, oh sure they would, Lennon finally showing his true colours. All the fellas from the 60s who predicted the fall of their group would celebrate and hoot 20 years later. And then there was Paul, someone who needed, craved a constant stimulation. What would happen if John couldn't give it to him? 

His body tensed, an automatic response to stress and anxiety. An incoherent voice of his therapist, something about calming down and recognising the real world from the products of his mind echoed in John's head. He didn't listen, couldn't, too invested in imagining what would he do after a break-up. The house would be his, a result of Paul's generosity, but would he be able to continue his life in it? Would he survive knowing he wasn't loved by Paul? The only person who hadn't stopped believed him even at his worst. Maybe he should do it, let his boyfriend go, 40 wasn't that old these days, especially for Paul who even run every bloody day. God, the newspapers would cackle with glee, dusting off their post-beatles bickering from their archives, ment-

"How is it?"

John whipped around, startled. He considered picking up a fight in order to conceal his inability then very slowly, eyes not meeting Paul's, offered him the blank page.

"Ah, yeah, today is a weird day, I couldn't even tune the goddamned guitar." It was a nice gesture, pretending McCartney didn't rhyme with genius, and the effort made John sick. 

"Is not just a day."

He didn't fancy the trembling edge of his voice, sounding like he was about to weep. Paul smiled at him, folding the paper and carefully placing him on the table.

"You are knackered, sweetheart."

"I'M NOT FUCKING TIRED PAUL," John burst out, immediately wincing. "Sorry, I-I just, I CAN'T, not even a string of words, nothing. What if It's the end? No more songs, stories, things to create? W-what if this is it, Paul?"

"It's not-"

"How do you know? It's like I can't even squeeze a word out, not when I'm trying, not when I'm not trying-"

"It's not the end, John, you just-"

"What if i-it's a price for everything awful I did? Just slowly waiting for the end, like a looser, everybody witnessing the fall?"

"-you just need to go easy on yourself." Paul finally seized a moment to finish his sentence, carefully inching closer to his sitting partner. He kneeled down, hands placed above John's bony knees. "Nobody expects you to create and create and create. Well, nobody from those who understand how it works and definitely nobody from those who love you. And it seems like you tend to forget about it, that we love you. Me, Julian, George, Ringo, Brian, Cynthia, Mimi...so many people, and there is no such condition determining it, yeah? That's the thing about love, innit, you don't have to earn it."

"I know," John signed, letting his head rest on the curves of his palms. "I just-what if...I mean, what if you stop? Liking me, that is." 

The hold on his legs grew stronger, Paul's fingers urging him to lift his head. To listen.

"You know that I didn't stop loving you even back when we just insulted each other. And I sincerely doubt you would do something that horrible to make me leave. Just look at you, John. You've improved, those are little steps, yeah, but you talk about feelings, right?" He waited till John offered a timid nod. "You apologise. Try to be more patient. Consider others more. It's just...as if you forgot about yourself."

The shuddering breath John let out felt like a razor cutting through his chest. The relief of hearing Paul's words of reassurance sharply contrasting with the scream in his head. The anxiety crushed him, pushing till his feet dangled off the edge, the sound of nails clawing at the wall vibrating through his skull.

He was losing his mind.

"Have you eaten t'day?"

Trust Paul to be practical even when witnessing his boyfriend's melt-down. A sour remark bubbled inside John's head, something about Paul being the perfect housewife. He gulped it down, eyes trained on the wooden floor.

"I-I had a sandwich." He blurted out in the hopes of relocating Paul's interest.

"That was at 8 am, John, 12 hours ago." 

John nodded, trying to ignore the twitch of annoyance in Paul's voice, of course he would be fed up, everybody would with an adult not being able to even eat by himself. It was like a slap, too, John's cheeks heating up in shame. Not this again, he didn't need that voice in his head, the one that whispered things about his tummy and thighs, encouraged him to poke his bones, examining if they were protruding enough. On the other hand, John didn't want his old body to return either. If he gained, Paul could be disgusted and then he would leave. If he remained skinny, good to look at, as the voice happily supplied, it would mean he was able to maintain a regime, he was making an effort. And Paul had reassured him that effort counted the most, right? 

"I'll make a soup, yeah? For both of us, something light and warm." Paul concluded, getting up. He planted a kiss to John's cheek, a gesture of understanding, before tugging the older man to follow him to the kitchen.

From his place near the island, John could observe every ingredient. He knew that it was an illusion of coincidence, Paul didn't forget the struggles after they got together again. The screaming whenever the voice won, and John suspected Paul tried to make him fat and bloated, adding surreal heaps of fat and sugar to every meal. The weeping following every swallowed spoon that stayed _in_. 

Despite all that, Paul hadn't left. Supported John when he needed it while simultaneously giving him space to heal and grow. Not once had he pressured John into something, not once he complained. And the amount of love John had received lead to those nasty voices fading out. 

It only made their reappearance much more intense.

"Alright?" Paul enquired, signalling to the pile of vegetables. 

John nodded, swallowing as he suppressed the images of the hot liquid transforming into fat. He realised it didn't take that long which meant Paul must have prepared everything. Somehow it made it all worse.

  
His eyes scrutinized the amount of soup in the bowl. The outcome looked good. John gazed up to Paul who was munching his own portion, seemingly not paying him any attention. The metal spoon weighed down his hand, and John almost did drop it before bringing it to his mouth but managed to do otherwise. It tasted good. Comforting. Nothing too sour, too heavy or spiced up, just right. He recognised different kinds of veggies as the warmth spread through his abdomen. 

Just then the hunger appeared it its glory, and John couldn't stop himself from eating. At one point Paul had to intervene, slowing the frantic tempo in which the meal disappeared. And, opposed to the initial fear, John felt stronger after finishing it. Grounded. 

He smiled bashfully at Paul, received a smile back.

They went to the sink together, wordlessly doing dishes. 

John nudged Paul's shoulder with his own. "I think I am a bit tired after all."

His boyfriend laughed, a nice sound full of love (John didn't question whether there could be love in one's laugh, not this time) and amusement. "Yeah? Or did I just bore you to death?" 

The tone was humorous yet framed with worries. The reality of Paul's own demons, the urge to entertain, to be liked, dawned on John. He had always tended to forget about other people's heads, too engulfed by his own, but one should always try to be better. One could always try.

He dropped the mug and hugged Paul's waist, fingers firmly pressed into the soft fabric of the horrendous jumper.

"If anything, you always bring me back to life."

*****

They decided to take a bath, something they haven't had time as for late and that both of them missed.

The warm steam veiled the room till John's eyes, shitty without his lenses, couldn't see anything. He didn't need to, for Paul's hands undressed him, surely, not rushing but not dragging it out either, before guiding him to the bathtub.

It didn't take long for the strong body to join him, chest pressing to John's back. He leaned back, enjoying the touches of Paul's fingers skimming over his stomach and sides. For once, he didn't flinch away.

"Beautiful," Paul whispered, millimetres from his ear and John let out a content giggle, feeling too good to experience shame at acting like a desperate toddler. 

He could feel Paul's lips quirk in a smile before even more compliments filled the air. It spurred something within his chest, a sudden flick of gratitude, and before he could comprehend the reality, John was turning around on Paul's lap, delivering hundreds and more kisses to his face.

"You are, you are too, beautiful, most kind, beautiful..."

It didn't lead to sex that night, the closeness bordering on too much already. They poured their souls out silently, as they always did, but the results would roar in their chest for moths, determining the rhythm of their lives. 

John lay still, playing with the dark locks of already unconscious Paul, who ended up tucked under his arm. It served him as a reminder of the peculiar dynamic of their relationship. No matter how weak one felt, the other always saw him as a safe rock to lean onto. 

John's eyelids fell, a heavy slumber awaiting him. And as the first deep breath escaped his lips, a graspable idea blossomed in his head. 

He didn't mind going mad as long as there was Paul by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> just trying out different dynamics before I start to write something with chapters, don't mind me
> 
> also still very much struggling with a writer's block (which is just delicious bc I finally have time, hello??) so ignore the rustiness, ta


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